


Dennis Creevey and the Monthly Tickle Torture

by Pianossdriver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Magic, Non-Consensual Tickling, Tickle Story, Tickle fic, Tickle torture, Tickling, Tickling Torture, Torture, Trauma, not sure if i should tag this with child abuse or child torture or something like that, this is a bit on the dark side so please take care of yourself, tickle magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pianossdriver/pseuds/Pianossdriver
Summary: When Dennis falls victim to a unique curse, he finds himself really empathizing with werewolves.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	Dennis Creevey and the Monthly Tickle Torture

Dennis Creevey opened his eyes and was immediately flooded with dread. Today was the day. Today, Dennis was going to be tickle tortured.

“I can't do this. Please don't make me do this,” Dennis whispered in his bed. But even at age 12, he knew that childish pleas wouldn't stop the inevitable.

It had started in January when Dennis and his brother came back to Hogwarts after Christmas. A seventh-year Ravenclaw, Harry Walsh, had stunned Dennis, taken him to an unused classroom, and tickled him with some variant of the Tickle Charm that he'd created himself. At the time it was easily the worst experience of Dennis's life. For two hours he was tickled well beyond his endurance on every ticklish spot. Dennis was extremely ticklish, so this was his worst nightmare.

Some prefects finally rescued Dennis and took him to the hospital wing. There seemed to be some sort of lasting traces from the curse Walsh had used, but Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to figure the effect out right away. It was a surprise, then, when 30 days later, Dennis collapsed laughing in a corridor. He hadn't stopped for an hour.

After that, the answers came easily. Walsh had cursed him so that every 30 days, Dennis would be tickled for an hour. Since Walsh had created the curse himself, there was no counter-curse. 

It was the beginning of May now, and no one was any closer to curing Dennis. The poor second-year Gryffindor was quite disillusioned with the adults in his life. Dennis was a young Muggle-born, so not many wizards really cared about him except as an interesting puzzle. Even the people who did care were too busy with the upcoming war with You-Know-Who to exert much effort on Dennis. 

Besides that, not too many people took Dennis's suffering seriously. The Wizarding World tended to be flippant about the odd things that happened to them. Even splinching, which could cause serious harm or death, tended to be talked about as something humorous. So when told that Dennis was under a tickling curse, most wizards tended to act like it was silly or cute. 

Walsh hadn't even been expelled for what he did to Dennis. Dumbledore said it had something to do with second chances. Walsh had lost 50 points, spent a month in detention, and now Dennis had to see him every day. Everyone just expected Dennis to be fine.

Dennis was not fine. Seeing Walsh smirking at him from the Ravenclaw table during meals sent fear spiking through his limbs. Dennis was only given a short time to recover after his tickle sessions, and then he was expected to carry on normally. He couldn't do that. He didn't have the words to explain how the tickling exhausted him, how the curse was something he was always conscious of, how jumpy and wrong he felt all the time. Only Colin seemed to understand and accept that Dennis was going through something terrible.

Today was the beginning of May. Dennis had barely eaten yesterday or paid attention in his classes due to nerves, and today he was in an even worse state. Time passed both too slowly and to quickly. None of Dennis's friends seemed to get why Dennis was acting so glum.

As the time when the curse would activate drew near, Colin walked with Dennis to the hospital wing. Dennis's normally excitable older brother didn't say a word. He just hugged Dennis before leaving.

When Dennis entered the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey patted his shoulder sympathetically. Dennis wished she hadn't done that. Colin's hug was comforting, but other touch just grated on his anxiety-heightened nerves. 

“You'll be all right. You're a brave lad,” she said. Dennis tried to smile. He tried not to think about how he soon wouldn't have any trouble smiling.

They'd figured out a system for while he was at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey led him to a small area of the hospital wing that was sectioned off as a kind of padded cell. It was spelled so that no one could hear him while he was in there to protect his privacy. Madam Pomfrey put a restraining spell on Dennis that limited his movements. Dennis knew this was to keep him from hurting himself, but he felt his heartbeat quicken with fear at the invisible bonds.

Finally, it was time. Madam Pomfrey tried and failed to give him an encouraging smile as she left him alone.

Dennis tried not to hyperventilate. He couldn't help but whisper, “Please.” He would give anything not to go through this. But, of course, the spell wasn't sentient and couldn't respond to pleading.

The other times Dennis had done this, he'd hoped that this time the tickling wouldn't happen. Maybe the curse would wear off. Dennis didn't hold that hope this time. He knew this was unavoidable.

Even after all his agonizing, Dennis was still surprised when invisible hands began to aggressively squeeze his sides. He screeched and thrashed instinctively. Somehow, every single time, it tickled more than he'd imagined it would.

“EEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! PLEEEHEEHEEHEEASE!” Dennis screamed. It would do no good. This was his reality for the next hour, and it had been less than ten seconds.

The hands squeezed upward, playing with his ribs briefly before going back down. Then the fingers stroked gently up and down his sides. This drove Dennis crazy, and he squirmed in a futile attempt to escape.

“Ihihihihihittt – it tihihihicklesss!” he complained to no one, all eloquence deserting him in the face of this all-consuming sensation.

The hands went back to squeezing and switched back and forth between tactics for a bit. To Dennis it felt like at least 20 minutes had passed. If there had been a clock, he would have been sorely disappointed. Then, without even enough of a pause to take a breath, the side tickling stopped and fluffy feathers began tickling the backs to Dennis's thighs.

Dennis nearly jumped out of his skin. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! NOT THERE!! NOHOHOHOHOT – STAHAHAHAHAP!!” 

He kicked, jerked, and twitched his legs frantically. He scooted from one end of his small padded cell to the other. He pressed his thighs flush against the wall and then the floor before the sensation forced him to try to move and escape again. His thighs were the second-most ticklish spots on his body, and he was rapidly reaching his limit.

“MAAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAP!!! I CAHAHAHAN'T TAHAHAHAKE ANYMOHOHORE!!! ” he sobbed, tears blurring his vision.

Suddenly, again without pause, the thigh tickling did stop and hands were clawing his belly. Dennis's stomach was one of his less-ticklish spots, so this was the closest thing to a break he'd have. That didn't mean it didn't tickle, and he still squirmed and giggled and wished for a real break. If only it would stop for just a minute.

All too soon, one finger began to scritch on, over, and around Dennis's outie belly button. His belly button was QUITE ticklish, so his struggling increased again.

“AAIIIIIIIIIHIHIHIHIHIHI!” Dennis squealed at a pitch that would make any soprano envious. He tried to curl protectively around his middle, twisted and wiggled side to side, and kicked his feet, as if that would help. Dennis was desperate for the tickling to stop. He didn't think he could stand much more. 

The finger switched to some sort of paint or makeup brush teasing his outie, and it lingered there for so long that Dennis thought it would last til the end of the session. Then, in the blink of an eye, his belly button was free and brushes were scrubbing at his soles.

Dennis's head bounced harmlessly off a padded wall. He fell in and out of silent laughter and gave his legs quite a workout. He wanted to kick and flail, but the restraining spell limited him to small movements.

“AAAHAHAHAHAA ---- AHH ----- AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOOOHOHO ------- HOHO MOOOOOOHOHORE!!!” Dennis's sides ached from laughing. His muscles were tired from struggling, but he couldn't make himself stay still. The invisible brushes buffed his heels, scrubbed his arches, and polished the balls of his feet. 

To make matters worse, something soft and slippery, like silk, began to slip between his toes while something feather-like brushed the very tips of his toes. No one should be able to survive something so agonizing. Dennis wiggled and clenched his toes as tightly as he could, but he couldn't protect himself.

Again, with that disorienting suddenness, the foot tickling was gone and two hands were tickling under his arms. Dennis squeezed his arms down as hard as he could and howled. By all rights he should have passed out. Unfortunately, the spell kept him conscious. He was forced to take everything that was thrown at him.

“PLEEEEEHEEEHEEHEEASE!!!!! I'LL DO ANY EEEEEHEEHEEEHEE ANYTHIHIHIHIHIHINNNGG!!! MERCY! MEHEHEHERHERCYYYHEEHEEHEE!!” Dennis cried, sobbing and laughing. In previous sessions he'd called for help. Once he'd even tried Finite Incantatem. Now he didn't even try those instinctively. He knew that no help was coming. He should have also known there would be no mercy, but for some reason he couldn't stop begging.

The fingers gently drew on the skin of his armpits, then a single finger would wiggle in each, then entire hands would dig in for a hard attack. It was pure ticklish sensation shooting straight into his brain. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

The armpit tickling became more and more intolerable. Conversely, his movements became weaker and weaker. He was just too tired to keep fighting. More than once he tried to just lay still and resign himself to his fate, but within seconds he started writhing feebly once more. Surely the hour had to be almost up; right? Surely it had to stop soon; right?

A feather suddenly brushed behind his ear, and he startled, unable to keep up with the abrupt stop of the underarm tickling. For about 30 seconds, he received a reprieve in the form of soft tickles in, on, around, and behind his ears. He giggled, scrunched his shoulders up as high as they would go, and shook his head like a wet dog. The tickling so far had been unendurable, and this was more on par with annoying. But his relief was limited as it still tickled a lot, especially as the other tickling seemed to have just amplified his ticklishness. 

In a flash the tickling switched to squeezing above his knees and up and down the tops of his thighs. Dennis tried to scream, but the feeling was too overpowering. He was thrown into silent laughter. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought the tickling wasn't as bad now because he was quieter and only squirming a bit. Instead, Dennis was in hell.

Just when he almost had a handle on the thigh squeezing, it stopped and stiff feathers attacked the backs of his thighs. Dennis was loosing his mind. He couldn't stand the tickling for another second. 

The stiff feathers seemed to switch ends and wrote sentences on the backs of his thighs with the quill end. Then the feathers disappeared so hands could goose the tops of his thighs again. On and on and on it went. Dennis never had a chance to acclimate to any one tactic.

When the tickling returned between his toes in addition to the thigh tickling, Dennis's first reaction was, oddly, relief. Even though he couldn't think much through the tickling, he knew by now that if he was being tickled in multiple spots, then the curse was wrapping up. The relief quickly disappeared as the intensity of the tickling hit him. Somehow his abused voice found enough power to shriek with laughter again. “AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!! PLEEEEEHEHEHEHEEASSE!!!”

All of the tickling he'd endured was added back, one by one: the bottoms of his feet, his stomach, his belly button – when the belly button was added, he knew he was going to die; no one could experience something so excruciatingly ticklish and not die – his sides, his armpits, and even his ears and neck. Dennis lost all ability to think. He forgot a time when he was not drowning in ticklish sensation. It was far, far too much. If You-Know-Who had appeared in front of him, Dennis would have done anything he asked to make it stop. 

The inhumane, full-body tickling seemed to last an hour by itself. But then, with the abruptness of the rest of the curse, all the tickling stopped. Dennis couldn't quite comprehend it at first as phantom tickles and tingles continued to assault him. His lungs ached as he gasped for breath through his giggles. Finally, though, enough reason returned to him to realize that the tickling had ended.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door. “There you go. Exactly one hour and not a second more.”

Dennis stared at Madam Pomfrey with disbelief. That had to have been longer than an hour. Maybe part of the spell affected time and let him – well, experience the effects of the spell – longer than the hour that passed for everyone else.

The mediwitch removed the restraining spell and helped Dennis up. He couldn't help flinching. He couldn't even stand the feel of her helping hands after the tickl – well, after what he'd experienced. Even thinking of the “t-word” seemed too much right now. But he was too weak to move on his own. Madam Pomfrey guided him to a bed, murmuring reassuring phrases like, “It's all right. It's over. You're fine.”

She was wrong. It would never be over. He had to go through all that again in 30 days. He'd gone through it four times before today, and there was no end in sight. He wasn't fine. How come no one could understand that? 

For half an hour, Dennis was allowed to rest in a hospital bed and drink water. Eventually, he relaxed a bit to the soothing sounds of the hospital wing, the soft bed, and the ability to just be. 

All too soon, Madam Pomfrey shooed him out to head back to Gryffindor Tower on his still-shaking legs. Colin stood outside the hospital wing. He didn't say anything, and he didn't try to touch Dennis, to Dennis's relief. He just walked beside Dennis all the way back to the dorms. 

XXX

Walsh lay back in his bed, his hands behind his head, and gave the top of his canopy a smug smile. That little Gryffindor twerp had been trembling on the way to the hospital wing. Walsh closed his eyes and brought up the image of the boy screaming with laughter, face red, mouth wide, tears streaming down his cheeks. It had been much more satisfying tickling the boy in person, but it was delicious to know that the tickling would never really end.

Well, technically there was a way to end the curse. If Creevey could last the entire hour without laughing – without magical silencing of some sort – then the tickling would never return. But Creevey was way too ticklish to manage that, and last Walsh had heard, he wasn't even trying. Creevey had a long, ticklish life ahead of him.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a bit on the dark side. Sorry, but that's what came out. Not interested in writing more as a story, and I probably should just let your imaginations do the work, but here's what I figure: 
> 
> Dumbledore will create a little padded room area in the Creevey home with the same silencing charms as in the hospital wing. Dennis's parents will be distressed, of course, because they'll be able to see the toll the tickling is taking on him, but they'll never actually witness a session or hear Dennis while he's being tickled. 
> 
> Dennis will visit St. Mungo's periodically over the summer. At some point either that summer or during Dennis's third year, someone will decipher the curse enough to learn about the no-laughing clause. This will only add a new layer of torment to Dennis as every month he tries not to laugh and is devastated when he inevitably fails. 
> 
> However, I think that someone will eventually figure out how to lift the curse from Dennis. But will it happen a year later? Or after the war? Or decades later? Who knows? *Cue evil laughter*


End file.
